


Night Terrors

by Ollieollieupandfree



Series: Legolas' Origin Story [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Memory Loss, Night Terrors, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 22:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13086480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ollieollieupandfree/pseuds/Ollieollieupandfree
Summary: Randir's first memory resurfaces, and it's not a pleasant one. Elrond and Glorfindel find out how Randir lost his memory. Lindir bonds with Randir. Figwit is an idiot. But that last fact isn't all that surprising.





	Night Terrors

**Author's Note:**

> I promise you that Randir/Legolas does get to be happy eventually.
> 
> "Randir" isn't technically a name, it's the Sindarin word for "Wanderer", which I thought fit. Given Glorfindel and others sometimes refer to him as Little Traveler. Enjoy!

 

The first two fortnights Randir spent in the Last Homely House East of The Sea went well. He slept soundly and his Sindarin and Westron greatly improved. So much so that he was able to communicate almost fluently. Though both were heavily accented and he occasionally had trouble with certain words, the young elfling was easily understandable. He enjoyed the company of Arwen and Elladan and Elrohir, though his mischief was much less noticeable than the twins and he was forever afraid of punishment, for reasons neither he nor anyone else could ever explain. 

 

It was on his thirty-second night in Elrond’s care that he woke the whole household with his screams. The whole household - sans the basic maids, cooks, and other such servants - rushed to the child’s side. Elladan and Elrohir, who shared his room, were the first there and were terrified of their new brother’s screams. His screams were worse than any that Elrond had heard. They curdled his blood and indeed the whole of Imladris was jolted awake at their lord’s newest fosterling’s screams. Arwen, who was terrified, remained in her crib with her nursemaid.

 

Elflings, much like Men, sleep with their eyes closed even when perfectly healthy. They have not yet developed a strong enough inner eyelid in order to safely sleep with their eyes open as is the way of elves, and so their bodies compensate. Randir’s eyes were open when Erestor, Glorfindel, and Elrond gazed down at him. His body twisted and contorted, and when Erestor tried to hold him down he kicked the tutor in the face. Erestor, not expecting the blow, fell back with a broken nose.

 

Randir did occasionally cry, but he always stopped if he thought he was bothering someone or he saw one of the twin’s cry, as well. But no matter how loud the twin’s sobs were in fear for their foster brother, Randir did not stop. 

 

‘Erestor!’ commanded Elrond, ‘Take the twins to Arwen, keep them there and try to calm them!’ Randir still screamed. Tears streaming down his face and his blood-curdling shrieks rough with the toll they were taking on his throat. Elrond tried to grab him and drag the elfling away from his headboard, but Randir screamed all the louder at Elrond’s touch. Elrond backed away, afraid of hurting the elfling as Randir’s thrashing grew more violent. Glorfindel ran to the twin’s beds and grabbed their pillows, shoving them under Randir and between Randir and the headboard. Behind the two lords, Figwit and Lindir stood, feeling rather helpless and unknowing how to help. Although, Figwit was known to be rather clumsy, and so it was probably for the best that the set of twins did not try to help.

 

‘Is he awake? His eyes are open?’ asked Lindir.

 

‘No,’ said Elrond. The lord of Imladris pulled up a chair and set it by Randir’s bed, sitting down and not touching the elfling, ‘He is not awake, nor is he asleep. There is nothing we can do to help. He will either wake himself up, or this will pass and he will fall asleep again.’

 

‘What is it?’ asked Glorfindel, sitting cross legged on the ground next to the bed.

 

‘It is a night terror,’ said Elrond, his face tired and mournful.

 

‘Like a nightmare?’ asked Figwit. Lindir stomped on his twin’s foot.

 

‘No,’ said Elrond, ‘A night terror is not a nightmare. It is something else. A nightmare is like a dream, and will wake the child up. A night terror neither wakes them nor keeps them asleep. Randir is somewhere in between. A twilight zone, if you will. A child will remember a nightmare, Randir will have no idea what happened tomorrow.’

 

‘What is he seeing that scares him so?’ asked Lindir.

 

‘I am not sure, mellon nin,’ said Elrond, ‘And we will never know unless Randir remembers and tells us. Otherwise, the only thing we can do is sit here and hope he gets better.’

 

‘Is it like a hallucination?’ asked Glorfindel.

 

‘Similar, yes,’ said Elrond, ‘But it is as if you were trapped in your worst memory, but it was worse than you remembered it. Elros used to have them.’

 

‘How did he stop?’ asked Lindir.

 

‘He grew out of them,’ answered Elrond, ‘And that is all we can hope Randir does, as well.’

 

‘Is there nothing you would do to help?’ asked Figwit, looking at the screaming child with pity in his eyes.

 

‘Maglor would sing to him,’ said Elrond, his eyes lighting up, ‘Lindir! Get your lyre, quickly, now.’ Lindir nodded and ran out of the room, running into the wall across the hall in his hurry and acting very much like his brother. Figwit fidgeted where he stood.

 

‘What would you like me to do, my lord?’ asked Figwit. Elrond hesitated.

 

‘Uh. Go to Erestor. Keep an eye on the twins and Arwen.’ Figwit nodded and ran off. Elrond winced as several crashes joined the racket of Randir’s screams.

 

‘I wish I knew what he was seeing,’ said Glorfindel, ‘So that I might help.’ Lindir ran back in and pulled up his lyre, strumming the strings and beginning a song. Randir’s screams died down now, and they were not quite as loud as they had been, but the terrified moans slipping from the boy’s lips like diamonds from a dragon’s scales were all the more disturbing. Lindir played louder, lifting his voice as he sung of Nimrodel and Amroth. It was one of Randir’s favorite songs, and the first he had asked Lindir to teach him when the minstrel started to teach Randir the musical arts. Randir’s thrashes remained as violent as ever, and his voice occasionally rose into screams once again, their echoes still chilling the inhabitants to the room to the bone, but not nearly as horrifying as before.

 

‘Mellon nin,’ said Glorfindel, ‘You are tired. You should sleep.’

 

‘How can I sleep knowing one of my children suffers so?’ responded Elrond.

 

‘I am here, my lord,’ said Lindir in a break in the lyrics, ‘I will not leave his side till he wakes, and I will not stop playing till the same time.’

 

‘Please, mellon nin. Erestor and Figwit have probably all gotten the other three asleep by now, and you need your sleep as well. So that you might help the elfling,’ said Glorfindel.

 

‘I will sleep if only you will, as well,’ said Elrond, ‘The screams of a child can be no easier for you than they are for me.’

 

‘Indeed they are not,’ said Glorfindel, ‘You have a deal, mellon nin.’ The two lords nodded their goodbyes to Lindir, who had resumed his singing.

 

True to his word, Lindir neither left the room nor stopped his song till the young elfling awoke. Randir did not question Lindir’s presence in his chambers, nor Elladan and Elrohir’s absence. Instead, seeing the silvery tears that still leaked from Lindir’s eyes, Randir threw his arms around the minstrel and buried his face in Lindir’s stomach. Lindir ran his hands through Randir’s hair, and embraced him in return. Randir was excused from lessons that day, and was moved to the chamber next to Lindir’s, displacing Figwit. Although nobody was very concerned about this last fact.

 

‘Lindir,’ said Randir one day as the elfling got ready for bed. Lindir poked his head through the door that connected the common area of Lindir’s chambers to the bedroom of Randir’s chambers.

 

‘Yes?’ responded Lindir.

 

‘Why did Lord Elrond move me here?’ asked Randir. The young elfling had yet to accustom to referring to Lord Elrond as ‘ada’. Lindir hesitated, but then he came fully into the elfling’s room and sat down on Randir’s bed. He pat the bed next to him, and Randir eagerly jumped up onto the mattress and cuddled into the minstrel’s side when Lindir invited him to.

 

‘Do you know what a night terror is, Randir?’ asked Lindir.

 

‘No,’ said Randir.

 

‘A night terror is sort of like a nightmare, except much, much, worse.’

 

‘Oh. That doesn’t sound fun.’

 

‘Indeed, I cannot imagine it to be. You suffer from night terrors, and we have found that music is the easiest way to help you calm down. As the official minstrel of Elrond’s house, and the best minstrel in Imladris-’

 

‘For now.’ Randir giggled at Lindir’s laugh. It was a joke between the two of them, Lindir hoping that Randir’s natural talent would only grow so that the elfling’s skill would one day surpass Lindir himself, although Randir doubted that would happen.

 

‘For now, yes. In any case. They decided that your rooms should be moved nearer to mine so that I might help you.’

 

‘Will you be able to sleep if I have night terrors next door to you?’

 

‘I will, don’t worry.’

 

‘All right.’ Randir nodded and leaned more heavily against Lindir. Lindir smiled seeing the elfling had fallen asleep.

 

For three months Randir slept next to Lindir’s rooms. For three months, Lindir awoke at precisely two in the morning and went into Randir’s room, playing his lyre even before the elfling’s screams started. At two ten Randir would start screaming. Lindir would play harder. At two thirty was when Randir’s screams would be the worst. At two thirty five Lindir would start to cry, but it would not affect his singing. At three fifteen Randir’s voice would give out and his screams would give way to terrified moans. His thrashing was always the worst when he could no longer scream. At five in the morning, Randir would stop all movement and sounds and wake up, only long enough to hug Lindir and drink a cup of water, then he would go back to sleep.

 

At five fifteen, Lindir would return to his rooms and put away his lyre. At five twenty Lindir would cry himself into dreams filled with the remembered screams of a tortured elfling.

 

One night, after Randir’s screams had given way to moans, Lindir heard two words. A name and a word, really.

 

_ ‘Glorfindel. . .  help. . .’ _  Lindir plucked a sour note as he heard Randir’s hoarse voice. His eyes widened as he registered what had been said.

 

‘FIGWIT!’ shouted Lindir. Figwit, from his new rooms a bit down the hall, was at his twin’s side almost immediately. Lindir held up a hand when Figwit was a hearable, but still safe, distance away from him.

 

‘Go get Lords Elrond and Glorfindel. Bring them here quickly.’ Figwit nodded and ran out of the room. Lindir winced at the responding crash, hoping that his twin had not run into the vase across the hall from Randir’s door. He rather liked that vase, a lovely blue color it was.

 

‘Lindir? What is it?’ asked Glorfindel as he and Elrond entered the room.

 

‘Randir called for you,’ responded Lindir.

 

‘Me?’ asked Glorfindel.

 

‘Yes,’ answered Lindir, ‘He was asking for help.’

 

‘From me?”

 

‘I believe I have already said that, Glorfindel.’ Lindir rolled his eyes.

 

‘If you roll your eyes enough, they’ll turn inside out and then you’ll see no better than a Man,’ said a hoarse voice beneath the Elf lords. 

 

‘Randir! You’re awake!’ exclaimed Lindir.

 

‘Hard not to be, with the might Balrog Slayer screaming over your body like you are on your deathbed,’ responded Randir, sitting up and reaching for the water glass set beside his bed.

 

‘Randir,’ Glorfindel swept past Lindir and sat on the bed next to Randir, ‘You called for me, Little Traveler. Do you remember what you were dreaming of?’

 

‘Uhm,’ Randir hesitated and set his water glass down, sitting up straighter, with all the posture of the prince he once was, ‘There was a man.’

 

‘An actual Man, or a male Elf?’ asked Elrond.

 

‘A male elf. He was older than me. Much older than me. With shortly cropped brown hair. Not like how his hair would have been cropped if he was dishonored, but like how they crop the hair of mad Elves to warn the sane ones that they could be dangerous. He. . .’ Randir hesitated again, ‘He hit me. I fell, and he kicked me. Why did he kick me?’ Randir looked up at Elrond, and the Peredhel quickly embraced the small elfling.

 

‘He picked me up,’ continued Randir, his voice muffled by sobs and Elrond’s chest, ‘And threw me into the water. He laughed, and I screamed, and then his laughter turned into sobs. He called for someone, but I can’t remember the name he used. Who was he? Why did he hurt me?’ Elrond cradled Randir, rocking back and forth and comforting the sobbing elfling until he fell asleep again. Lindir stayed by the elfling’s side as Elrond and Glorfindel left the room.

 

‘We will move him back into Elladan and Elrohir’s room in the morning,’ said Elrond.

 

‘What? Why?’ asked Glorfindel.

 

‘I believe Randir’s night terrors were preludes to that memory coming back. I think they will go away now, even if he does not realize it is a memory,’ responded Elrond.

 

‘At least,’ said Glorfindel sadly, ‘We now know how he came to be here.’

 

‘Yes,’ agreed Elrond.

 

‘The elf who threw him into the water,’ asked Glorfindel, ‘Shall I find and punish him?’

 

‘No,’ said Elrond, ‘I believe that Thranduil’s eldest son is facing his consequences on his own.’


End file.
